Evil Angel
by DeadlyLilYukiko
Summary: Two brothers and their friend have made criminals seem like nothing more then children. So would it come as any surprise that one mobster would get it into his head to try and harness the power of the Saints for their own purpose? But will it work?
1. There's No Chance For Us

**-In a world of mob stars and people trying to rise above each other, two brothers and their rag tag group of friends make these power hungry criminals seem like nothing more then children. So would it come as any surprise that, much like their father was once used, that one mobster would get it into his head to try and harness the power of the Saints for their own purpose? The only question is...will it work?**

**-Takes place after the second movie (considering they don't end up in prison at the end of it!) Using Breaking Benjamin songs.**

**Evil Angel**

Chapter One: There's No Chance For Us

"_There's no chance for us  
It's all decided for us  
This world has only one sweet moment  
Set aside for us_

Who wants to live forever?  
Who wants to live forever?  
Ooh, Ooh, Ooh  
Who dares to love forever?  
Oh, Oh, when love must die..."

_**-Breaking Benjamin 'Who Wants to Live Forever'-**_

The fingers came up, stroking over the light stubble as a tongue moved, clicking against the back teeth in a faint tsking sound that seemed to denote deep thought. It was the only noise that filtered out through the thick cigarette smoke yet none of the three forms seemed even remotely upset about this fact. They all just stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed against the familiar burn of cigarette smoke to look at the window that looked over South Boston. It was by no means a pretty sight. Run down buildings were crammed together, some choking the air with great plumes of toxic breath. Still it was home, a sight they fought for, bleed for, bleed on. The faint sound finally stopped long enough for a voice to slip through the haze, thickened by the mourning Irish accent.

"One final set up on Da."

There was silence again, three minds once more falling into thought. Each was bogged down with the sight of the old Irish man taking his last breath, uttering his last words as his bleeding and sobbing boys clung to him strongly, the fear at loosing the man that had been lost to them for so long now made real not even a decade after finding him. The man's blood ran strong in them, let them know who they were and why they had the desire to do what they did long before meeting him. He was the first one in their new jobs to show them that they weren't untouchable, putting a bullet in both his sons and shaving off their friend's finger. A friend he had never had the pleasure of knowing but was surely sharing a pint with in heaven. There was another intake of air that warned of more words to be spoken, once more in a thick accent from the Emerald isle.

"And those bastards finally got him."

Silence once more. No one really knew what to say, but they knew what needed to be done. They had planned it all carefully while they were laid up, healing from the wounds that had been near fatal from the fire fight that had finally taken their Da's life. They were suited up, coats over shoulder holsters, guns cleaned, prepped, and loaded, rosary tucked gently between shirt and skin. This time a third voice broke the silence, the accent thickly Mexican. There was excitement in this one, almost a desire to be proven.

"We'll get them. They can't keep running and we've shown that we ain't easy to take down. They're gonna be fucking running all over Bean Town to try and hide and we'll flush 'em out like the rats they are!"

The two Irish men nodded, face still solemn, one last silent prayer spoken for their lost father. He would die a hero, taking out one that had viciously killed a priest, an innocent man, and set countless others up over the years for his own personal game, but still be labeled a criminal by the police and society. The thought was sobering, and for a moment continued to leave the trio in silence, peering out the window and taking slow drags from the ever present cigarettes. It was then a new sound leaked out amongst the heavy exhales. It was a soft sniffing, followed by what could only be described as a whimper. Two heads turned towards the sound, brows arching for a moment in surprise before lowering in accusation.

"Are you crying?" One Irish voice asked, a hint of shock edging his words.

"Shut up!" The Mexican voice responded. "Its just, you're being all fucking serious and shit!"

Laughter suddenly ripped through the two Irish men, sending them doubling over and needing to use each other for support. The third man's hands came up quickly to rub angrily at his face, even if he was now grinning despite being the subject of the mocking.

"Fuck you, you guys are assholes." He muttered a final time.

A hand came out, patting the irritated Mexican's shoulder, one Irish men, the shorter of the two bobbing his lighter softly spiked head near his ear. They were up, the moment over and the action ready to be started. The Irish man grinned as he spoke to their riled up friend.

"Don't worry Romeo, we shan't be telling a soul that yer a little girl!" The Irish broke into fit of roaring laughter, scooping down to lift up the duffel bags, hearts now lightened before as they prepared to do their work.

"You mick mother fuckers are so going to get it!"

A laugh left them again as the Mexican jumped to his feet to chase after them, fumbling over himself to grab his own duffel bag and peeling a brightly colored gun from it and slipping it into his own shoulder holster, laughing to himself and glad to see the two brothers could still find humor. As long as they had humor, they were still safe, still had hope.

For now, the Saints were coming...

"Somethin's not fuckin' right about this." Murphy remained crouched in the bushes outside the mansion, hands fumbling with his gun, checking and double checking that each part was still clean and ready to properly work. "This is supposed ta be one of the big guy's houses and there's not a fucking guard that we can see? Not even a fuckin' poodle to piss its self if we get too close. It ain't right."

Connor had to admit that he was thinking the same thing as he peeked over one of the hedges. The air was cool on his features as they long since realized the need for them to wear masks was past. You don't shoot a mob boss mask-less at his own trail and figure you can get away with no one knowing who you are. His blues surveyed what they could see of the yard and there wasn't a body, a gun, or as Murphy so delicately put it, a poodle to piss on its self. His gaze then moved up to the windows. One light on. It must have been where Nicholas Yakavetta doing his nightly hooker.

"Ah, they probably think we're all dead or in prison after what happened at that damn greenhouse." Romeo muttered, screwing a silencer on to the end of his pistol's barrel. "Ain't no normal fucker can survive a shit storm like that."

"Aye, but they know we ain't no normal fuckers." Murphy answered, now looking up towards Connor that had remained pretty silent since they'd gotten here to basically find the front door open for them. It could only mean one of two things. He had the same idea of something being wrong and wanting to wait, or he was trying to think up a plan. Murphy really hoped it was the first option.

"They knew that ta fuckin first time and they still dragged us back here." Connor finally answered, and it was easy to detect the heavy though in his voice.

"Yea, but I still think that somethin' ain't right here." Murphy muttered to himself, checking the silencer of his gun once more, almost a nervous habit. "So what ya' thinkin', Con? We go in or we go out?"

There was silence that settled over the trio, even Romeo finding it in himself to hold his breath. When it came down to it, this was the brother's rodeo and he only rode in it. He went by what they said, what they wanted, even if he was itching to shoot some of the spaghetti sucking assholes that had tried to hard to kill all of them and succeeding in taking three of their team down. He looked between the teams, eyes wide as he waited for one or the other to speak and felt the nerves rising in him until his silence could no longer be held.

"I say we take the chance they're fucking giving us!" he blurted out. "Just march up there, kick the fucking door in, pop pop pop, take those fuckers out. Let them know we ain't dead and that they didn't win. Just really fucking drive it home!"

Connor cracked a smile even as he continued to watch the light on in the upstairs room. One shadow. All he could make out was one shadow. Maybe Romeo was right for once and these bastards really did believe that they had gained the upper hand, that they were all holed up some where with rotting injuries and of no threat anymore. They couldn't believe jail. That would have been all over the news. But dead? Dead was a good possibility. They'd left Louie's crumbled palace looking like Armageddon had happened.

"He's got a point Murph. I can only see one shadow up there. I think they really are being this fuckin' dumb." He finally sunk back down behind the bush and sighed heavily.

"Then what ya fuckin' sighing 'bout?" His brother asked in return. "If ya thinks its gonna be that fuckin' easy then why don't we just get it done and get home before they fuckin wise up and get a fuckin army here?"

"Eh, I don't know. It just seems kinda, plain. I wish we could do somethin more...creative." Connor now had that distant look in his eyes as he rubbed at his chin, mind ticking away as he started to try and piece together some plan that he had in his mind.

"Oh no!" Murphy jumped in right away, ready to put a stop to his brother's scheming. "Every time we do one of ya fuckin movie based plans something fuckin goes wrong and we gotta scramble to save our asses! For once, let's just do it the fuckin easy way while we got the chance!"

Connor hunkered down beneath the bush, lips pushing out in what appeared for a moment to almost be a pout. It was apparent that he didn't like the idea of having one his beloved plans squashed so easily. He reached a hand down to the collar of his shirt and slipped the rosary out, peering at it in dark, only the light of the upstairs room glinting off the metal loop around the apex of the cross. Finally a sigh left the smaller of the brother's lips.

"Fine, ya win Murph. We'll just kick the fuckin door open and go in blazin like a couple 'o cowboys." He agreed in an tone that showed he was not in the least bit happy with having to do things this way. He brought the cross up to his lips and kissed it gently. Nodding towards it before dropping it and glancing towards his two companions before raising his gun up beside his face and offering his brother a lop sided grin. "Shall we?"

Romeo reached out and slapped a hand firmly to the ground, letting out the sharp sound of flesh against pavement, his hoot resounding after it. Biting his lower lip, he pointed sharply at both of them.

"Now that's what I'm fucking talking about!" He exclaimed, voice low but still laced with excitement. "Let's get in there and take out that fucking asshole for thinking he can fuck us over!"

Murphy raised a hand and brought it up to clap around the back of Romeo's neck, grinning broadly. Fingers clasping tightly, he offered the Mexican man a good shake and a beaming smile. Neither Irish man wanted to admit it, but the fact the fact that Romeo was still at their side was a relief. The twins had this in their blood, and in a way it made them strangely untouchable. But too many of their friends that had taken up their fight with them had found an earlier trip to their end. Both brothers smiled at him.

"Well fuckin said Romeo." Murphy chuckled, before yanking his hand back to pull free his own rosary, kissing it gently and nodding. "Then let's fuckin go."

The three rose, all business now. Their faces were serious as they strode across the dark yard towards the front door. Nicholas Yakavetta was next in line to take over the Italian racket in South Boston, destined to following in the foot steps of the one the boys had affectionately come to know as the 'Panic Room Pussy'. The idea was to strike again fast at those that had banded together to try and kill their entire family, the ones that had taken both their best friends Rocco and Greenly's lives and then moved farther yet to take the life of their father. Here, in this house, the trio was moving in to take out the last of the heads of the Italian mob, to make killing the wriggling body of the snake in South Boston all that much easier.

It was suppose to be easy. In and out. Kick open the door, round 'em up and shoot 'em down cowboy. There was no flashy plan, no little tricks learned from movies or television. An easy job, easier then any they'd pulled yet. The door opened easily enough, swinging open from one kick without even too much of a bang, allowing them to charge in. What they were greeted with changed the whole plan, guns pointed straight at their faces.

A set up.

Eight angry Italians with revenge in their eyes. The three paused just inside the doorway, eyes going wide. The sound of hammers being pulled back danced across the room in a chorus of clicks. There was only a moment for reaction. Guns came up, Romeo shouting out only one phrase before anything started.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Then the bullets started flying from both sides of the room. The trio dove to opposite sides of the room. Murphy dove to the right, Connor to the left and Romeo yanked back, leaping over Murphy to dive deeper into the room, shooting even as his body was still in midair. Bullets pinged off walls and furniture, the room breaking into pure chaos. True to form and legend, the flying ammo seemed to miss the trio. But three of the eight Italians went down, blood bursting from their newly adorned holes.

Connor scooted back behind an easy chair even as bullets from the remaining five Italians started to chew up the fabric, sending stuffing snowing into the air. Panic flared in his blue eyes as he looked over towards the air that his brother and Romeo had launched themselves in time to seem them scramble for cover. Their guns still blazed as he haphazardly loaded his own.

"Real fuckin' easy!" He bellowed back towards them, angry only in his voice, as he snapped the new magazine into place. "Just go in, no plan, no cover! Real fuckin brilliant!"

"Just shut ta fuck up and keep shooting!" Murphy shouted back, popping up from behind a chair to start firing back at the mass at the same time Connor surfaced. Three more Italians fell, life source forming a pool beneath their cooling bodies. Romeo was laid out beneath a coffee table, bullets tearing at the knees of those that still remained standing. The rest fell, giving the twins enough time to bury the killing bullets into their heads. All at once the gun fire ceased, but still the boys took their time, waiting to see if another group would wave in. When things remained calm, they finally managed to sneak out from behind their hiding spots.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Romeo shouted, spinning in a fast circle before kicking at one of legs of the dead men. "A fucking army just waiting in the fucking dark for us? How the fuck did they know we were coming?"

Connor surveyed the damage, a hand coming up to wipe along his face. His eyes had taken on a different appearance now that the game was on. For a moment though he stopped, a wide grin breaking out across his face. He turned towards the other two and chuckled.

"Well, we sure seemed ta deal with them easy enough." He shrugged, looking around. "So what do you say we go upstairs and take out the the next Don and send these wops scrambling?"

Murphy couldn't help but roll his eyes and raised a hand up to cuff his brother hard in the back of the head before shoving him a bit. "Wasn't it just you cowerin' behind tha chair all 'its was suppose ta be easy!'?"

The reaction was immediate, Connor leaping back towards him with a shove of his own, eyes wide in humor now, not seeming in the least that they were in the middle of nothing short of a death room. Romeo could only watch with an impatient roll of his eyes.

"Crazy fucking micks."

The sound of the gun blast was deafening and damn near terrifying as it seemed to blast through the hollow between the wrestling boys. They both dove, one right and one left again, hitting the ground hard and seeking out a visual of the other to insure the bullet that seemed to come from no where had done no damage.

"What tha fuck was that?" Connor shouted already preparing to pop back up out of his spot behind the couch when he heard the shallow wheezing that he'd long since accompanied with a fatal bullet wound. His blue eyes roamed over the pile of bodies, catching the trembling hand of the Italian man that had held the gun. "Murphy, Romeo, are ya two alright?"

It was Romeo's voice that reached Connor as he strode over to the gasping mobster. The man was using his last bit of strength, wheezing each breath out as the intake came out with a whistle, blood bubbling from the hole that led into one lung.

"Murphy was fucking hit, man!" The Mexican chattered back, panic in his tone. It didn't ease Connor's mind but he knew one thing, Romeo was a panicky sort. Always talking quick and on edge. So much like Rocco that the boys hadn't been able to turn him away, though they'd razzed him good the first time he begged to be in the all boys club.

"Is he fuckin alright Romeo?" He snapped back, kicking the gun from the man's hand and kneeling down beside him. This Italian was heavy set with a balding head yet a thick dark growth covering his chin. Blood streamed from one corner of his lips and stained his teeth almost a shade of orange as he sneered back at the Irish man that was now kneeling to deliver him into the arms of hell.

"I'm fine." It was Murphy that answered, easing his brother's thoughts as the gun barrel pressed firmly against the chest of the dying man. "Its just my shoulder."

"He's bleeding bad though man. I don't know if we should fucking go up there. If there's another ambush we might not fucking make it." Even though Connor couldn't see him, he knew Romeo was scrubbing at the shaved sides of his head before his hands would find their way to press against Murphy's shoulder.

As much as either brother hated to admit it, Romeo had a point. They'd come this far, but neither wanted to loose the other in something as simple as a ego driven fuck up. Which was exactly what this was. They should have been more careful, but the fact that always seemed to come out on top of any of the odds had inflated them enough to make their mistakes all that more dangerous.

"Is there another group of ya bastards waitin' for us upstairs?" Connor asked the man gasping at his knees, not figuring his answer would be true unless he was given the chance at life. The one thing these people had always shown the brothers to be true was that when faced with life or death, they would sell their own upstream simply for a few more wretched moments of breath. "Answer smart boy, and there may be a life for ya after all."

The nameless Italian smiled, a gruesome showing of teeth coated in slimy layers of crimson as though he'd actually been sucking on the life stream of another. But he made no move, not with Connor's gun pressing against a kill spot, ready to take him to his end.

"Its...just us..." He rasped out finally. "This last one...last Yakavetta...he makes us sit in the dark...night after night...waiting for you Saints. Waiting to die...and he...he ain't even here...it was all...a set up...Don't kill me, I've got a family..."

Connor nodded, knowing the man's rasping was too low for the other two to hear, and now he could pick up the pained sounds that came from his brother. His teeth clenched. He didn't go back on his word, and this man had told him what he wanted to hear. But still, he'd attempted to take the one family member that Connor had left, and that was a fact that could not be forgiven.

"They will meet ya one day should God choose ta have mercy on yer soul." He whispered to the man who seemed to gather what was happening right away and tried to lurch up from his spot, bloody spittle flying from his mouth as the silenced gun went off, hissing the bullet into his chest as he slumped down. "Romeo, get Murph outta here. I will see ta the clean up. Buddy boy here says twas all a set up. The fox isn't even here. Get him ta the hotel and clean him up. I'll meet ya there once the blood is cleaned up."

There was a shuffling sound that he knew was the smaller man getting his lanky brother to his feet. There was little argument. After Greenly had been taken and the boys' father, their third member had learned not to question the boys' call. Only they could argue with each other when things became this serious. And right now he knew the idea that was Connor's head was one of pure fear should his brother not start getting help right away. What made it only worse was the woozy Murphy's inability to argue back.

"Connor, no." The drowsiness in Murphy's tone told Connor two things. One, the mexican was doing right and getting him closer to the doorway and out, and two, there was going to be a fight over this. "Ya ain't stayin like some kinda fuckin' hero. We all go in or none go in."

Connor finally turned and pulled a small spray bottle from his pocket. He forced an easy grin, knowing it wasn't easy to pull one over on his brother. But he had to try. Truth be told, the man was still on edge from watching his father die, and now seeing his brother soaked in his own blood brought the fear of loosing him as well rolling up to the surface in waves that were almost nauseating.

"I got ta get rid of yer blood less you want the cops knocking at yer door. Ya know we don't have much help left with ta boys in blue and its mighty hard ta clean up after ya when yer still drippin' on the fuckin' floor."

There was a pause while Murphy seemed to weigh out what Connor was saying. The death of their father pressed down on both the boys the same way and made it hard for either to want to loose sight of the other for even a short moment. But Connor's words rang true. They had to neutralize the blood trail with Smecker and Bloom gone for the moment and the longer and more blood he poured out onto the hardwood, the better chance of another fuck up they had.

"Alright, but hurry it tha fuck up. This hurts like fuckin' hell and I don't want ta be standing out in the cold all night." Murphy finally conceded and allowed Romeo to usher him outside.

Connor raised a hand, shoving it through his hair as he looked at the scattered bodies. Not something they hadn't done before, but this time they hadn't been expecting it. Though something was gnawing at the back of his mind, like a small fact that they'd forgotten or hadn't picked up on. Still, he set about to cleaning, spraying his brother's blood tracks with the fine mist of ammonia.

"Fuckin' eight of them." He muttered to himself as he worked. "Like we're fuckin' Superman or somethin'. We only wanted the one bastard we thought was upstairs, not the whole lower..."

That's when it hit him, the something that was wrong. As they'd walked up, the shadow. It had been moving still in the upstairs window. Not one of the wise guys down here. They wouldn't have been fast enough to make it down here with a warning. And there had been no warning. That was easy enough to tell by the shocked pause when they'd kicked in the door. Anyone that had a warning to their coming would have been shooting before the splinters of the door hit the ground. That meant there was still one Italian milling around the house.

"Oh fuckin hell!" He barked, pushing to his feet with sudden realization that he was now alone in the house with whatever wop would want revenge for the group that had been fallen already. But before he could make it fully to his feet, something cracked against the back of his head, a splitting pain roaring through to encompass the entirety of his skull and bring him down, slumping in his brother's blood on the floor as darkness gripped him, giving him only the finally words spoken in a thick Italian accent.

"Take him out the back and then finish it."

Murphy leaned heavy on Romeo's shoulder just at the end of the driveway. They were out of sight of the neighbors, but still with a clear view of the house. Despite the waves of pain and dizziness that was washing over him, something was gnawing at his stomach, making him uneasy and jittery, something not normal for the taller of the brothers.

"He's got ten more fuckin minutes and then I'm going in there and draggin him the fuck out myself." he muttered, pushing off Romeo and squaring off his shoulders with a pained grunt, ready to make good on his threat.

"Easy there killer, I'm sure he's fine. You left a lot of fucking blood in there and he's gotta clean it up or some CSI sort of shit." Romeo was already searching his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, unwilling to admit to the agitated Irish man that he was uneasy as well, instead offering him a cigarette as well.

Murphy snagged the thin stick, shoving it between his lips enough to catch a glimpse of the tattoo there. His hands searched for his lighter as he glanced up at the house one last time. It was too much, too long. Ten minutes was enough time for the bastard to be in there on his own.

"Fuck it, I'm gonna get his ass." he grumbled, flicking the flint to light up the tip of the cigarette as he took a step back up towards the house, Romeo already moving to chase after him.

And then it happened. It was so sudden that at first neither man was sure it really had occurred. The house that had once been standing before them, full of the bodies of eight dead Italian mobsters seemed to go deadly silent before pushing out with an explosion that rocketed such force, it seemed almost to have no sound. Shock waves crashed out, knocking Murphy and Romeo back off their feet. It wasn't until their bodies hit the ground that sound finally caught up, roaring over them with a matching heat from the fire, tearing at their very flesh and head like a living being. There was a scream, and at first Murphy thought it was from Romeo. He didn't realize it was his own choked cries.

"Connor!" Now his brain caught up with his own screeching, struggling and flopping on the ground in a dazed manner. The wound on his shoulder had torn more, opening another stream of blood on the pavement that he wasn't even aware of. All he knew was that his brother had been in the house that was now raining debris on the neighborhood, the shattered frame licking with fire. "God, no! _Connor!_"

Romeo's arms where there, grabbing at him even as the distant sound of fire sirens seemed to come from no where, creeping up closer on the duo that was trying to make an escape. Romeo fought with the tearing Irish man, knowing that they could not be caught here. Still Murphy struggled back with a vengeance, screaming as unknown tears tracked down his face, rosary beads bouncing against his chest as their friend started to drag him off. Murph was near hysterics, sure his brother had been caught in that explosion, so much so that the bright light of the fire never seemed to leave his eyes, even as Romeo managed to carry him off from the scene.

All Murphy could see was the spot his brother had just been, consumed by the very fires of hell.

"_Connor!_"

**-And there you have it, chapter one. I hope you like it. Click the button and review! Tell me what you think I'm hoping to have another update out very shortly! 3**


	2. I'm All Alone

**-So here's the second installment. Sooner then I thought but I can't even really sleep due to medication from surgery. Yeah, I know, lucky me. But here you go. Time to find out what really happened to Connor and how Murphy and Romeo are taking what they see as a tragedy...**

**-Thank you to those that reviewed and/or read :D I hope to hear more of what the readers think with where this story is going!**

**Evil Angel **

Chapter Two: I'm All Alone

"_I'm on the floor  
Battered and bored  
You got a taste  
I can't ignore  
I'm all alone  
Out in the cold____"_

_**-Breaking Benjamin "Sugarcoat"-**_

"Let me go Rome! Let me fuckin' go! I got ta get him! I got ta go back for him! _Connor!_"

Romeo refused to let Murphy go, despite the fact that the Irish man was fighting him like a doused cat. All claws and spitting, wrenching his body desperately in the smaller man's hold. Anyone walking past the alley that this show was going on in would have never guessed that the taller of the duo was bleeding heavily from a fresh gun wound.

Anguish was rolling hard in Murphy's stomach. It hadn't happened, it just hadn't fucking happened. His vision was blurred by tears, and each time he tried to blink the salty build up away he was given a glimpse of house going up in a booming fireball. The house they'd just recently vacated. The house that Connor had still been inside. Another wave of tearing grief rolled over him, drawing the pained cry from his lips.

_"CONNOR!"_

Romeo kept his grip as tight as he could, the man's blood already starting to coat his hands and making them slick, his leather gloves now trying to grip tighter as they slipped on Murphy's arm. He didn't speak, held his silence to allow the man to work out the torment that was raging through him. The truth was though, that the same misery was flooding through the Mexican's form. These two had become the best friends he had had, and now?

Now one of them could be dead.

The choked sound of Murphy's sobs, broken only by angry screams as he tried break free with the desperate need to race back to where his brother had last been seen breathing. The bellowing screams had started to break off into nothing more then heart wrenching sobs, body still twisting with a need to escape.

"Let me fuckin go Rome...I have ta go save him..."

"No Murph." Romeo finally spoke, his voice low and oddly serious for the normally goofy third party. "You can't go back there and we both fucking know it. If its bad, then Connor wouldn't want you to be caught by the cops over something you can't change. But we gotta think, we gotta think he's alright and just hiding up until the shit blows over and then he's gonna come looking for us spouting something about how we shoulda thought of just blowing the place the fuck up."

His words were true and Murphy knew the words he said were true, but he couldn't wrap his heart around it. Knees turned to jelly, dropping the tall Irish man to his knees in the alley way. He was barely aware of the cold puddles soaking into the knees of his jeans. His cries no longer made any sound, just rattled his body as he rocked back and forth. But Romeo was sure his words had reached the grieving Irish man, so he released his tight hold and took a step back, giving him the room needed to mourn. And the separated twin took it, grasping his rosary tightly and turning a tear streaked face to the dark sky, howling out in the pain that rested deep in his heart.

"_CONNOR!"_

His head was pounding as he struggled back to the world of consciousness, for the moment forgetting where he was. The roaring pain in his head caused his stomach to roll, almost bringing a gag to his throat, allowing him to feel a strange weight there. The faint sound of shoes shuffling somewhere left him groaning and raising hands to grip at the sides of his head. This had to be the result of a bender. Again another dragging sound reached his ears, tearing through the tormenting headache.

"Murph, I swear ta Christ if ya don't stop dragging yer feet, I'm goin' lay ya out." He muttered in a low, groaning tone.

"I don't think you'll be getting that chance any time soon, Saint."

The strange voice cut straight through the aching of his head, needling deep into a panic and snapping his eyes open. The house, Nicholas Yakavetta, the ambush, Murphy and Romeo and then the blow to the back of the head. His whole body lifted off the floor, eyes snapping open. The strange weight at his throat tugged again, this time almost choking him.

"Murph?" He gasped out, struggle to find his way to his hands and knees, fingers scrapping up to try and yank the gathering pressure hugging his neck. The tips only met metal instead. A steel collar? Connor's heart rate increased, praying loudly in his own mind that he hadn't just woken up into what he thought he had.

"You're brother is not here, _Il mio cane_." The voice repeated in an accent and language that gave him away as being Italian.

"_Io non sono vostro cane__." _He growled back, voice tense. He still couldn't see the one speaking to him and so instead took the chance to look over himself. His shirt and jacket were gone, even his boots had seemed to vanish along with his belt. A breath left him in relief though at the sight of his rosary still pattering against his bare chest. "Where is my brother?"

The blow seemed to come from no where, crashing brutally into his side, the thick rubber sole of the boot catching him in the lower ribs. A grunt was forced from him and he moved just as swift. Lurching up to his feet, one fist swung out in the direction of where the leg had been. There was an instant where knuckles meet the flesh of another and he farther forward, pushing harder to get the man he knew was trying to back away. A dangerous smirk played on his lips as he pushed farther forward.

For the moment, the steel that had encased his neck like a collar had been forgotten until the metal bit back, crushing painfully at his wind pipe and jerking him back with a wheezing, growling curse. Connor managed to scramble himself up into a crouched position, glancing behind him to see the heavy chain that was outfitted to the collar and embedded in a hoop embedded into the concrete wall. A leash? He was on a fucking leash?

"You dirty fuckin' wops better let me off of ta this thing before I use the chain to choke every last one of yer greasy necks!" He hollered, now nearly panting with the rage and panic at being chained up like some kind of beast. All the worst, he still didn't know what had become of Murphy or Romeo. All he could hope was they were somewhere blazing up the badies to get him the fuck out.

This blow came harder, crashing down against the flat of his bare back, something sharp digging into the flesh and tearing. Small scratches formed along Jesus's face on his back, swelling with blood and giving the tattoo of their savior the impression of crying tears of crimson. The hit knocked the wind out of him, sending him to all fours with a sharp gasping intake of breath.

"One does not unleash their dog until they are certain the beast will not bite their own hand." His mystery guest continued to speak, almost serenely from the shadows, out of Connor's eye sight. Still, the lost twin looked around, noting for the first time that be seemed to be in same type of room that the first Yakavetta had trapped the trio in. The same room where the mob boss made the mistake of killing Rocco and leaving the brothers alive to avenge it.

"I don't get what yer talkin about." He snarled back, pushing up off his hands to kneel instead, shuffling back to seek out the wall to help to his feet. Even leashed, he was going to do all that he could to keep himself away from the image and a trained animal. "And ya didn't answer my question. Where is my brother?"

The chuckling sound that reached his ears from the dark corners of the room was infuriating, rising Connor's blood quickly into a heated boil. Rage crashed against honest fear, knowing that he needed to know his brother was alive or he would raise hell in this room until either he, or the man in the dark were dead. If he had his way, it would be the first or both.

"Don't worry about your brother, _cane_. I saw that retarded spic dragging him off just before the boom. Where they are now, I haven't any idea. But they surely aren't here, and he is not coming to your aid." The voice mused, the humor in his tone enough to leave Connor snarling. "See, even now you glower and act like a beast. You don't even stop to think, to ask. What should one of us want with a live Saint brother? Why risk the chance of you having a gun returned to your hand? I had the shot back in the house to have my man shoot you square in the back of the head before you would have even known he was there. After all, isn't a dead Saint better then anything?"

Connor was able to tell the man that remained hidden was pacing. His eyes drifted back in forth against the shadows, trying to follow the trail of the voice as it shifted from left to right, senses honed should he have the chance to attack. Relief had been stronger then he imagined at the knowledge that his brother and friend were still alive. Not just because it meant they'd survived, but because it meant there was hope that he would get out of this tiny one man prison. The one thing he didn't want to admit was the curiosity over the truth behind the man's words.

Why was he not dead? If a clear shot had been there, why had it not been taken? There wasn't a mobster or criminal that he knew of in South Boston that would have overlooked the chance to do in one of the Saints. Yet here he was, a prisoner of one of those exactly, not even tightly bound and beaten. Nothing but a steel collar and thick chained leash kept him from causing chaos in this small room. The question must have been marked clearly on his face because the voice chuckled in response.

"You see, Connor..." The drifting of the voice stopped, showing that the man had paused to turn him, as though asking for a correction on the name. "I assume you're shouting for Murphy would make you the other twin. So, you see, Connor...I know who your third was. The old man that made up the Trinity. A thing of legend still despite the old man's passing a while ago. He was a frightening man, your father. Such an artist, such a killer. My own people made to use him as their pawn, calling him in when they needed help, relying on his skills to dispatch all our enemies, not his. He was sometimes tricked into believing the men he went after were worse then they were, but still, I don't think it would have mattered to the old man. His job was to kill for us, and he did well. He did it happy. A natural born _bastardo._"

"My Da was a good fuckin man, ya keep yer fuckin mouth shut about him!"

The man paused in his story, almost as though he were surprised about Connor's reaction to his father being called a killer, a bastard. Maybe the Italian figured the boys knew and had dismissed the knowledge. But now it seemed they knew, and just didn't care.

"Really, this has nothing to do with your father Connor." He now continued talking once more, as though never interrupted. "But everything to do with you. And possibly your brother if we can track him down and make the offer. I'm sure once we tell him who we have here, he'll be eager to listen to our offers."

The chain let out a fierce snapping sound as Connor's full body weight was suddenly thrown against the collar, not even seeming to notice the pain of the metal digging at his throat. There was rage in his eyes. A pure, unfiltered hate that was all consuming and promised death.

"Ya so much as look at my brother and I promise ya my last breath will not come until yer's has been stolen from yer chest." He hissed out, tone low. The idea of this strange man trying to find his way anywhere near Murphy set Connor instantly on edge. He was want to tear out at the man, yet still, knowing what he could about this rather unorthodox turn of events could prove to be quiet helpful in mounting an escape. Still he put on the show, hurling himself at the end of the leash like a rabid creature, roaring threats and venting frustrations until the pain of the digging collar forced him to stop, sagging to his knees as though defeated and hung his head low, chin resting against the top of his chest. "Ya leave him out ta this..."

The sound of the shoes reached him again, shuffling closer. Connor sucked in a slow breath, holding it and reminding himself to remain still, keep his head down. The image had to be believable in order to draw the man closer. Only then could he get them to let their own guard down, come close enough to give him a chance. The boots came closer, just a little bit more. Three steps, one step, two steps. There!

Connor moved swiftly, all motions a completely smooth. He spun, still crouched low and struck out with one leg, aiming for the back of the man's knees. There was a grunt of air that meant that his blow had hit. One arm streaked up, grabbing for a fist full of shit to yank the man down to his back, now at Connor's level as she swung a leg over the man's chest and circled his hands around her throat, applying the same chocking pressure that the steel collar had given him.

"Give me the key to this and ya' may find yer'self spared yet." He snarled out, eyes leaking nothing but pure menace, showing that he meant every tiny bit of his threat to do the man in right here even if it meant he had to rot at the end of this chain. The man he grasped was trembling, face turning red beneath Connor's tight grip.

"Very skilled, very smart. This is why I want you for my _cane_." The voice still came from the shadows, shattering Connor's resolve. The man, the Italian talking was still hiding. This man he was strangling was a decoy. And it worked perfectly, giving them the upper hand. The boot came crashing out of the darkness, cracking hard into the side of his head and sending him sprawling off the top of the man.

He rolled a few feet, trying to blink away the daze but not being able to. The room tilted around him as his pain filled his skull enough to make his stomach roll. He got it, he finally got what was happening, what this man wanted.

"I will use my last breath ta make sure ya don't get it..." He muttered out before he was pitched into the darkness once more, body going still on the cold cement of the floor.

The form moved out of the shadows, the dim light falling across the facial features of one familiar. Nicholas Yakavetta smiled down at his new prize, his pitbull at the end of his chain. He knelt down, a hand coming up and out and reaching to stroke the unconscious Irish man's cheek in a tender move.

"Let the training begin..."

_Il mio cane: "_My Dog"

_Io non sono vostro cane: _"I am not your dog."

-**And there is chapter two! Please, click the button at the bottom of the page and let me know what you think!**


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